She kisses me harder, using her tongue against mine.
My head feels dizzy. My entire body is tingling.
I would do anything for this girl.
I’m so in love with her, it was making me feel sick, but right now, that feeling has disappeared, replaced with a quiet, overwhelming peace–– contentment.
32
Cecily
Dylan’s confession soars through my body and lands in the middle of my stomach, sinking lower and lower with each kiss. He’s kissing me so sweetly across my kitchen counter, but I’m getting beyond dizzy. My body is tingling in all the best ways. I lean back and lick my lips. I take another bite of my strawberry while staring at him.
“Bedroom or the couch,” I ask.
He smiles that gleaming bright smile at me, and I can’t help myself. I pull his lips back to mine. I need more. I want to crawl inside his shirt and stay there for as long as he’d let me.
His tongue flicks mine, and then he pulls away. He grabs the cup of water and chugs it.
“I need a bath.”
I chuckle. “A bath?” I grab his shoulders and say, “I think you’re a little too big for a bath, smut.”
He rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. “I went too hard at the gym, and hockey has been kicking my ass. The game was intense.”
I nod. “Okay, ice plunge bath it is.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “No. A hot bath. With you… naked…”
I narrow my eyes at him. “We’re definitely not going to fit––”
“If you’re a good girl and listen to me, maybe I’ll give you a treat.”
“A treat?” I ask.
“They’re in my truck. I owe you a Snickers and Skittles, don’t I?”
I put my hand over his face as my body comes alive at the thought. His eyes are bright, and I’m already visualizing what he’s going to do to me. “Okay, okay. I’ll make the bath, and you grab the candy.”
I start walking backwards, and the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
If I’m a good girl…
The tone in his voice keeps ringing in my head. The look on his face makes me throb all over.
I run the bath scalding hot, adding in essential oils. I add Epsom salt, light a few candles, and wait until the tub fills. I can’t imagine Dylan’s six-foot-three inches in this tub, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Dylan walks into the front door and kisses the top of my head, leaning down to kiss my ear.
He whispers, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I mutter.
He holds me from behind and whispers, “I just want to say thank you.”
My ear’s ticklish, so I squeeze his face between my head and my shoulder.
“For what?” I ask, reaching around his neck and caressing him.
